Give Us Peace

Harry Potter was sitting in his room, facing a blank wall. He was murmuring under his breath, "Dona nobis pacem," over and over again. It had become his mantra in the weeks following Sirius' death. A tawny owl had arrived in his bedroom just hours after he got back, bearing a book called, Meditative Methods for the Modern Occlumens, by I. B. Calm. Having nothing else to do, he had read it.

One of the first things it had instructed him to do was to find a mantra. A mantra, it explained, was something that you repeated over and over until you focused only on it. Eventually, your mind would clear, and you wouldn't even be concentrating on it.

"Hmm," he thought. "Sounds like bollocks, but I suppose it's better than anything Snape's ever tried teach me." He recalled something he had heard once at school before he found out he was a wizard. It was a song heard at Christmas. Dona nobis pacem. The very next day, he had sent off an owl to Remus Lupin. The note asked if he knew what the phrase meant. He had gotten an owl back that same day that said,

Dear Harry,

It's good to hear from you. I know you have a lot on your mind, but where'd the Latin come from? Anyway, it means, "Give us peace," and is often sung as a song around Christmastime. I'm sure you know the Christmas story.

Affectionately,

Everyone's Favorite Werewolf

Harry had laughed. "Everyone's favorite werewolf. Ha!" he had said. "Since when are werewolves anyone's favorite anything?" Harry thought that the phrase was oddly suiting to his situation. He would give anything to have peace be given to the wizarding world. Peace that he didn't have to bring.

Mrs. Dursley knocked once, and entered Harry's room, breaking him out of his meditative reverie. "Odd," he thought, thinking back on his peaceful state, "It was almost like being under the Imperius curse, except no one was trying to control me."

"Harry," Mrs. Dursley said, "Your friends are coming to pick you up in an hour. Why aren't you packed?"

"Oh no!" Harry thought. He had completely forgotten. He pulled out his trunk, which the Dursleys had let him keep in his room over the summer, and started throwing things in.

"Hmph," Mrs. Dursley said, "You and your kind don't take much to cleanliness." She left, almost slamming the door, but catching herself before she did.

Harry was delighted. He had forgotten he was going to be picked up today, so it was like a surprise all over again. He looked over at Hedwig, who was happily hooting, having picked up her owner's happiness. Harry walked over, and gave her an owl treat, for no reason other than he was happy. He looked over at one of his Defense Against the Dark Arts books, Hexes for the Vexed, by Solomon Frenkel, one of the few things he had yet to pack, and did a double take. It was floating in midair.